


To Side With the Enemy

by dragongoats



Series: Tales of Thedas [15]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Abominations (Dragon Age), Blood Mage Hawke, M/M, The Last Straw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-10 19:43:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12918936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragongoats/pseuds/dragongoats
Summary: Anders sat there, waiting for the end.





	To Side With the Enemy

Long ago, in another lifetime it seemed, Sebastien called Anders selfish. But what Hawke's friends failed to notice, being just too in love with the idea of a heroic Champion, was that Hawke was selfish too.

He'd wanted to be Viscount. Despite being a mage, despite dealing with demons and performing bloodmagic, he'd played nice with the Templars in a bid for their support. He'd basked in the safety power gave him, smug in the control he had. He was not like the others, he was better. Wasn't he?

But when he stood there faced with Meredith’s wrath under the ashes of the Chantry, his lover proclaiming freedom from oppression despite the consequences, he felt small and insignifiant and utterly lost.

His resolve wavered. He wanted to run, to hide away, to _not get involved._ He'd find Carver in the grey wardens and take Anders away from this place, live free and clear. Power was not worth... this madness.

Yet Meredith’s threat was clear: Help us or you too shall fall. There was no escape, not this time. What hope could a bunch of circle mages and a rag-tag group of rogues have against a zealous army of the faithful. This city was going to burn either way, and Hawke wanted to pick the winning side. 

He was a selfish person.

Anders sat there, waiting for the end. He would not aid the Templars, despite the likelihood they would all die if they did otherwise.

He sat waiting for the mercy of Hawke’s dagger. As if it was a simple thing for Hawke to do.

Hawke couldnt look away. He felt numb. His fingers clawed thickly at the familiar dagger at his back, his trembling hands fumbled with the strap he’d undone countless times before and now felt foreign. The world blurred and the muscles of his legs gave way. His staff was the only thing that kept him upright, kept his dignity, as his knee slammed into the dirty ground of Lowtown.

None of his companions moved to help him. This was his private pain apparently. His private moment. Varric sighed heavily and reloaded Bianca. Fenris coughed politely and checked the bottom of his feet. Merrill rested against Isabella, weeping heavy, silent tears for the fallen mages, yet another selfish act resulting in mass-death. Sebastien hovered, fury and faith bleeding into the air. “You must kill this murderer.” He said while he pushed the blade into Hawke’s hand. Gone was the thoughtful, meek Chantry Brother. He wanted vengeance. Retribution. He desired Hawke to give him this as well.

But Hawke could not.

Hawke’s vision blurred and swam as he stood. The sitting form of Anders was dark against the bleak white-washed streets of Lowtown. Anders begged for an end to it.

But Hawke could not.

One of his hands gripped the feathered pauldrons of Anders’ dark coat, the other gnarled tight against the handle of the blade, knuckles white.

“You must, love.” Anders said, his voice soft and distant. It was a voice that lived back in Hightown in early mornings, when the world seemed open for possibilities, before vengeance and freedom stained everything red.

Hawke’s throat was tight on words he could not say and actions he could not start.

He choked back a sob. His arms wrapped around Anders' shoulders, mouth pressing a light kiss to his neck.

"I can not." Hawke murmured.

He shifted, and jerked, drips of red splattering the streets. He was no stranger to this feeling, the magic and power coursing below the skin. He felt the familiar amused humming call from deep with in him. It questioned if it was time yet. Power, it promised, was so easy to obtain as long as he _let go_.

He heard the distant, surprised screams as he floated above. Selfish pride, bigger than himself. It would be easy to give up.

But easier still to _give in_.


End file.
